


Ursa Minor [2016]

by trainmango



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:32:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6392650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trainmango/pseuds/trainmango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The multiplying suicide cases around the city have been connected to a mysterious club that nobody, even the police, seems to be able to put their hands on. In the midst of it all, Kyungsoo meets Jongin.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ursa Minor [2016]

**Author's Note:**

> This is a new, edited and rewritten version of Ursa Minor, written first back in 2012 to 2014. It's been altered to the point it's arguably a new story, with added and modified parts.

The sound of the television barely reaches Kyungsoo’s ears anymore. The upbeat melody of this new prepubescent girl group’s latest single fades in a quiet buzz, the sounds melting together into something unrecognizable. It’s been playing everywhere for a few days now, on tv, the radio, outside cafes and clothing stores, even outside the Etude House right down the street, and on weekends when the streets are especially lively he can hear it from his room.

The melody is catchy but somehow he can never seem to remember it, and this morning the song doesn’t even get to him. The morning news follow, voices indiscernible in the background as he gets ready for school without really thinking about anything. He can’t make out the anchor’s voice from his parent’s quiet bickering in the kitchen down the hall, the clattering of utensils shaking him out of his stupor and he blinks once, twice before looking out his bedroom’s window. The sky is grey like it has been for weeks, yet it seems a shade darker and the clouds seem heavier. However it’s still nothing more than another ordinary autumn morning, and he lets it go, picking up his bag, wondering if he should bother grabbing his unfinished physics homework laying on his desk. He decides against it, walking to the door to leave. He stops for a moment by the living room, his eyes flicking to the television more by reflex than anything close to interest.

Again, nothing registers in his mind because the news are always just repetitive stories told in a monotonous voice, and nobody really cares about them, honestly.

 

A car pileup on the highway caused five severely injured but no casualties.

 

An important government diplomat has been caught in a corruption affair.

 

The images and sounds blur into each other, and he’s not sure why, the moment he decides he has to leave, something there catches his attention.

The screen displays a road security camera recorded video of a couple holding hands, running in front of a speeding car. The image is grainy, the body reduced to vague silhouettes caught from a distance, but Kyungsoo guesses they’re very young from what looks like a uniform blazer on one of the two forms, just before the car hits them and the video cuts as the shadows of the bodies roll under the wheels.

It’s surely not the first suicide recorded in the archives of the Seoul police, and although shocking, there shouldn’t be anything special about this one either. Kyungsoo is already late, and as he jogs down the hallway to the elevator, he can’t shake the thought off his mind that it’s the fifth mediated suicide in barely ten days.

 

 

—

 

 

It’s three days later that Kyungsoo realizes something is wrong. This time, it’s not a blurry, faceless figure that disappears in front of his eyes. The figure is there, clear, the shape burning itself into his retinas. He doesn’t move, and as he looks at the legs dangling from the ceiling, he is reminded of the dark, threatening clouds that morning that just keep getting darker, larger, enveloping the city, yet the rain never comes.

He does not look up, keeping his eyes levelled with the suspended legs that sway gently in circle. It’s strange because the windows are closed, not a gush of wind hitting his face, yet the body never stops swaying, and just like the morning news, the ear-splitting screams coming from the corridor are distant in his head.

 

 

—

 

 

The next morning, flowers don’t quite replace the shadow that still stains the second desk in front of his own. There’s nobody sitting at it, and even though Kyungsoo hears the whispers of _why Sehun, he was such a good kid, such a good student, what a tragedy_ , he can’t seem to match a face to the name on everyone’s lips. He doesn’t remember ever talking to Sehun, doesn’t remember his voice or even sharing a look with him in the hallway.

 

Kyungsoo is not exactly sad, yet something hollow weighs down in his gut. Maybe he’s trying too hard to find a face that just didn’t exist in his memories in the first place. So what’s the point?

There’s guilt mingling with the hollow something and it doesn’t leave, doesn’t subside even a bit as the day passes slowly. He’s still sitting at his desk when the walls fade from red to black. The teacher is long gone.

 

« Huh, what are you still doing here? »

 

Kyungsoo hadn’t noticed the door sliding open nor a student walking in, eyebrows furrowed in confusion behind thick strands of hair. The boy’s eyes are so black they seem to absorb any remaining light in the room, bottomless but empty, neither cold nor warm. It’s when the boy blinks and clears his throat that Kyungsoo realizes he’d been staring. He shakes his head to resurface from his thoughts, shivering a little at the sight of the student still watching him, a humorless smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

 

« Sorry, I just- I was just thinking, I guess. »

 

The boy walks up to Sehun’s desk, nonchalantly gesturing to the withered flowers before replacing them with a bouquet Kyungsoo hadn’t noticed he’d brought. He claps is hands twice and closes his eyes, immobile for an instant that passes quickly. As the boy turns around to leave, Kyungsoo feels as though the words he spoke are not his.

 

« Do you- I mean, did you huh, know him? »

 

« Not really, well, as much as you get to know someone by spending a few months in the same school? I was assigned by random lottery for this, if that’s what you’re asking. I have to do it for a couple weeks only. »

 

« No, hum, it’s just… I can’t seem to remember him. Not even his face, you know? I’ve been in his class from the beginning of the year, but I can’t recall his voice, like if he’s ever read from the textbook out loud or something…. I mean, there was someone named Sehun in this class, right? I keep thinking about it but- »

 

« Why does it matter? He’s dead. It’s not like you were close so I don’t see the big deal. »

 

It’s true, of course. He was never close with Sehun. His death didn’t do a dent in his life, but the absence of memories nags at the back of his mind, as if the boy had suddenly appeared to him in his disappearance. 

 

« I feel bad for him, I guess. I didn’t mean to forget him. »

 

The other student scoffs, walking the two or three steps that separate them. Kyungsoo winces as the boy stands right before him, his dark hair falling over his eyes, lips reduced to a thin line, fists clenched white. Kyungsoo can finally get a closer look at him. He looks exhausted, but there’s a profoundness to it that seems to impregnate his whole body, digging at his cheeks and clinging at his dark skin. It’s as if just standing there wears him down.

 

« That’s just hypocritical bullshit. Why care for someone you never bothered acknowledging before? What’s the fucking point in that? »

 

Kyungsoo feels shaken, not having expected this reaction. He can’t seem to predict the other boy’s actions, can’t even begin to understand what he’s thinking, and it scares him. He wants to apologize, take back his words, but the boy doesn’t let him.

 

« Before worrying about dead people, you should consider your own life a little. Who cares who Oh Sehun was and what he did? He killed himself because he didn’t even know that himself. What’s truly important is your connection to yourself. So, are you connected to yourself? Why are you here? Who _are_ you? »

 

« I’m… Do Kyungsoo… » He’s confused. What does that even mean? That guy’s crazy, Kyungsoo thinks, or he needs a month’s worth of sleep.

 

« Yeah, sure, I mean, my name’s Jongin, but that’s not relevant at all. Who are you really? If you don’t find that connection to yourself, sooner or later, you’re gonna end up like him » _Like Sehun_ , Kyungsoo echoes in his head. « It’s far too late to establish a connection in his place, and looking for him won’t fill the void in your existence. Then, there is only one way out. »

 

The boy, Jongin, turns on his heels and makes his way back to the open door of the classroom. He entered it quietly like a breeze but leaves it in a storm, thunder still pounding in the confines of Kyungsoo’s chest.

 

 

—

 

 

He lies in bed that night with fragments of the strange student’s speech whirling in his head. Jongin, he’d said his name was Jongin, despite it not exactly being an introduction. 

 

Kyungsoo turns and squirms under his blanket in a vain attempt at finding sleep, but a persistant string of energy continuously runs through his limbs, just enough to keep him awake. He turns on his side, eyes wide open staring at the black emptiness of his room. Every time he closes his eyes, Jongin’s dark pupils appear behind his eyelids amidst the phosphenes, and the city outside is silent, the echo of the boy’s words loud and clear in his head until it hurts.

 

He thinks about Sehun then, tries to focus on something tangible, a laugh, a hair color, a detail missing, but he draws a blank. He can only recall the faint swaying of legs suspended midair, and the harsh light of the neons he shouldn’t have switched on just yesterday, a yesterday that might be decades away now, since his encounter with Jongin feels like it lasted years. Or seconds, maybe, or not at all. It might be impossible to sort out, as he tries to grasp the meaning behind Jongin’s sudden appearance earlier, and why he’d unexpectedly lashed out at him, a complete stranger. He’d seemed so serious, like he was giving him a warning. The way he had spoken about Sehun somehow let believe he knew more than he’d let Kyungsoo know. Jongin had almost made a point of implying, hinting at what he’d wanted to say, leaving Kyungsoo with enigmas and makeshift scenarios multiplying and multiplying in his head, fuelling his insomnia late into the night.

 

 

—

 

 

People say that the more you look for something, the less likely are your chances to find it. It’s like a force of nature. This, of course, means that Kyungsoo doesn’t catch a glimpse of Jongin for exactly eight days. It’s not that he’s been counting, but the days succeed to each other mechanically, as if they simply check themselves off the calendar, and Kyungsoo can only add them up. Another disappearance that screams loudly at him in its evidence, taunting him.

One afternoon, Kyungsoo attempts to catch Jongin by staying late after class, when the other boy is supposed to bring a change of colors to Sehun’s memorial bouquet. He ends up falling asleep at his desk, waking up with a start, and the shaky hand softly ruffling his hair seems like a distant dream. The lights are off and the flowers might as well have been brought back to life.

 

On the eight day after he’d met Jongin, Kyungsoo thinks about giving up, and even though he remembers the boy so distinctly, he thinks their encounter might have been a really lucid dream, a symptom caused by shock, trauma, a psychologic reaction to cope with Sehun’s death. He’d spent the week expecting the other boy to appear, but nothing.

It’s too hard on him, he’s tired of struggling with his thoughts and the lack of sleep and the throbbing headache digging into his skull like something bigger than himself is growing in his head, eating at his insides.

 

It’s extremely tacky, Kyungsoo thinks, or someone is playing a cruel trick on him. He could’ve spotted Jongin in the hallway or bumped shoulders in the cafeteria, but instead he finds the boy curled up in a bathroom stall, like it’s all part of some melodramatic teenager flick. It kind of feels like the end of the episode, when the supporting character reveals an abused past and wallows in self pity. Of course Kyungsoo’s life is nothing out of an afternoon drama, but as he follows the chocked coughs and looks down at Jongin sprawled on the floor with his hair drenched, shades of blues and purples blossoming at the corner of his mouth and across the bridge of his nose, Kyungsoo waits for the ending credits to take off.

 

_To be continued._

 

Jongin straightens up into a sitting position, hissing as he knocks his head on the toilet paper dispenser. Kyungsoo just stares, because what else can he do? Jongin looks up at him behind his dark fringe sticking to his forehead, expression unreadable. He’s exactly how Kyungsoo remembered him, and much more.

 

His eyes are holes, and Kyungsoo gets sucked in. Jongin coughs blood, Jongin coughs words. It somehow feels the same.

 

« Have you found a connection to yourself? » His voice is just a little over a whisper, low and trembling. There’s a hint of hope in his tone, the sting of his words from the other day completely gone, but his mind still seems miles away. Maybe he’s not talking to Kyungsoo; maybe the words are directed to himself, and he wants Kyungsoo to answer in his place, like he’s asking him to take the decisions.

 

It’s been over a week and he still doesn’t understand what Jongin means by _connection_. He can’t bring himself to ask, scared he’d somehow disappoint him. He feels obliged to that boy with dishevelled hair and bloodied lips, that boy with skin the color of milk tea dripping and contrasting with the glistening white tiles of the school’s bathroom floor.

 

He doesn’t ask what happened, doesn’t ask if he’s okay. He doesn’t know Jongin yet but he can tell it’s not what the boy wants to hear. _Consider your own life a little_ , he’d said. He sits besides Jongin, not caring about the water wetting his pants, resting his chin on his knees.

 

Jongin stiffens at that, and Kyungsoo can only glance at him from the corner of his eye, trying desperately to keep his breathing steady.

 

« What I said the other day, I meant it, you know. It’s time you start asking yourself the right questions. I don’t want you to end up like Sehun. » It sounds like worry. His eyebrow are drawn together stubbornly and he bites his lip where blood has smeared from a small cut.

 

« You don’t have much time to begin with. Sehun ran out of his prematurely, or he found out that no matter the amount of time given, he could never find his connection. The Suicide Circle caught him. »

 

Nothing makes much sense to Kyungsoo, but if he’s got one thing figured out, it’s that Jongin really is talking to himself. It’s a pity, Kyungsoo realizes, that he doesn’t have any answer to give, that he can’t take any decisions.

 

 

—

 

 

 

It’s still a grey morning, but Kyungsoo’s parents are away. He’d turned the television on just to drown the silence in the house but what he sees makes him want to turn it off instantly.

 

Yet, he doesn’t.

 

 

_… awaiting explanations on this horrible incident. This morning around 6 AM at Euljiro Sam Ga station a group of teenage girls jumped in front of an incoming train. The whole line 2 in direction of Ehwa University is now paralyzed for several days in favor of what’s been announced a very long and laborious police investigation. The authorities have yet to identify all the victims but the casualties have escalated to the impressing count of 37 bodies. This is unprecedented._

_The tragedy plagues us greatly, and we send our most sincere support to the families affected. Let us join our field journalist along with officer Park, the representative in charge of this horrible case._

 

_\- Yes, thank you…_

 

 

Kyungsoo is barely listening now, his thoughts burying every sound around him. His vision is wavering slightly and the walls are closing in on him dangerously.

 

 

_… seen this term mentioned frequently on social networks and forums lately, the ‘’Suicide Club’’ or ‘’Suicide Circle’’ has even been trending on Naver this week. The authorities think this group, that we’ve yet to discover the purpose of, might be responsible for the massive number of suicide cases that have been occurring all around the city for the past two months. Further investigations are currently in process…_

 

 

Of course the first thing that comes to mind is Jongin. In that moment, he is so panicked, so absolutely terrified by the truth unveiling itself, but it only sparks new questions, new uncertainties.

He doesn’t know what to make of Jongin now, of what his words hide, of what his eyes imply. It has all become too big for him to handle alone.

 

He still doesn’t know what the ‘’Suicide Circle’’ is, that among everything Jongin had said to him. He doesn’t know what it is, so why are they talking about it on national television? Hearing Jongin’s words out of someone else’s mouth is terrifying. It makes them real.

 

 

—

 

 

During the following days, the body count on the train tracks goes up and finally stops at 54. Five of these girls attended Kyungsoo’s school, one of them was from the class next to his.

 

In hopes of drawing a conclusion, teachers give speeches and more flowers are placed on desks to make people forget more than to help them remember, leaving Kyungsoo in the middle of it all wondering where the smiles and the laughter come from.

 

Nobody seems to be sharing the headaches and heavy nausea he wakes up to every morning, following him on his way to school and fading at the end of the day when faces start to blur and walls begin to spin uncontrollably. The air is humid and sticks to his skin, but the cold wind has shivers running down his spine.

 

The indifferent smiles make him sick, and one afternoon he runs out of class and throws up what he has left of bile in the bathroom, splashing water to his face and hoping he’ll wake up or something along those lines. He grips the edge of the sink and gasps at his reflexion in the dirty mirror. For the first time, he notices how pale is skin is, almost grey. His large eyes are rimmed by dark circles and his short hair is tousled, unkempt.

 

He adverts his eyes almost instantly. More than being scared, Kyungsoo is lost. It’s unsettling when you’re not sure if it’s yourself you can’t recognize, or everyone else. Jongin had spoken to him about connection, yet he has never felt so disconnected in his entire life.

 

 

—

 

 

On a Thursday morning, approximately one week after what the media had baptized ‘’The Train Incident’’ (the word incident is greatly misused, but it brings peace of mind to confused ears, gives a false sense of finality to a case far too illogical and complex for Mr. Everybody’s already limited capacity to think, to care), the direction summons the entire student body in the gymnasium for a briefing on the latest events.

 

Kyungsoo wonders why he still bothers coming to school. His head is so full that he just stops thinking, at times, and classes pass in a daze, the content of the lesson totally forgotten by the time the bell rings. It’s days and days without seeing Jongin, again, since their encounter in the bathroom. This time, he fights the urge to look for him, knowing the mere sight of the other boy might send his thoughts astray again. He doesn’t need any more unanswered questions.

 

It’s ironic, really, that tan skin and pitch-black hair appear to him like a vision among the rows of standing students, but he forces himself to look away.

He understands why Jongin had been so out of his reach, and he feels stupid. He’s immobile, standing in the rows near the front, with the other first years. First years who have most of their classes in the next building, somewhere Kyungsoo never sets foot in since he went up a grade. It makes sense, but then not. He thinks of the dried up flowers, of random lottery, all empty words. He wonders if Jongin still goes up all the way to his class to change the flowers. He hasn’t noticed if they’re fresh or dead for a while now; he doesn’t pay attention to anything much.

Jongin is one year younger than him, he realizes, and it’s somewhat disturbing to know that he’s older than a boy who seems to know too much about life, and already seems like he’s lost himself in it.

 

« … have been informed that the police has confirmed the connection between the recent internet sensation, the Suicide Club, and the terrible incidents that have plagued our city and, furthermore, our dear school, for the past months. The Suicide Club has been mentioned on numerous forum pages and social networking sites. Preventive measures coming from the head of the police department include a minimized dissemination of any information on the subject as to contain the trend and prevent other incidents, as well as an immediate report to the direction or the police if an individual gets access to this information. As respectable and responsible members of this society, I would like all of you to cooperate. The school has its student’s safety in priority… »

 

Kyungsoo’s only half listening at this point.

 

To hold such a speech is pointless, honestly. In this very moment, people are dying all around the city, from the summits of the highest skyscrapers to the deepest corners of Seoul. It’s certainly why this case seems so intricate; there is no pattern, no clue. There is no distinction between salary men and teenagers, housewives or policemen. One day it’s a renowned chaebol or a popular idol, and the next it’s the old woman from the convenience store down the street.

 

There is no trail to follow because there is no culprit.

 

As he exits the gymnasium in the mindless swarm of tired students, Kyungsoo makes what is probably one of the easiest decisions of his life, which is to not turn Jongin in to the direction. He’s sure the boy is more or less involved in whatever the Suicide Circle might be, but Kyungsoo needs explanations, he needs so badly to understand so he can sleep, so he can finally breathe again.

 

He wants to talk to Jongin, now, he’s certain of it.

 

 

—

 

 

Days run at an alarmingly fast pace, blurring out the red with the grey sky and the water Kyungsoo splashes to his face to keep himself anchored, even if he doesn’t know what to. He tries to ignore the suicides that pile up endlessly, but it’s too late. Maybe the trick would’ve worked at the beginning, but the situation is far too out of control. The rumors and speculations spread like a virus and fear slowly starts to ooze from the streets, bordering on panic.

To some, it’s not even fear but excitement, deaths treated like bets and games, passed around like gossip around dinner or with a coworker over a cup of coffee. It’s fun when you’re convinced it can only happen to other people, but then there’s that petty dumbstruck expression when the husband hangs himself or the accountant next door swallows a whole bottle of medication. 

 

There’s no stopping it, but still, life goes on, at least for the ones who are left behind, and Kyungsoo wonders if Jongin is one of them, or if he’s just getting ready to leave. He hopes it’s the former, because despite barely knowing him, he thinks he wants to try and fix Jongin with the ounce of sanity he has left, and something close to sympathy. He assumes that’s what it is, this weight in his heart that draws him to Jongin so strongly he thinks he gets into a trance sometimes, pulled in without being aware of it, coming to his senses only when their eyes meet and Jongin looks away, vanishing in the crowd. In those moments, he can only exhale the oxygen he’d been holding in and blink a few times to hopefully erase Jongin’s expression, a shadow sticking to his vision as if he’d been looking at the sun for too long.

 

 

—

 

 

He pushes open the door of the bathroom, stepping into the empty corridor. Indiscernible murmurs are muffled into the walls, teachers and students engrossed in lessons, and a faint scent of flowers permeates the air. His footsteps resonate loudly in his ears, and he focuses on the sound until he hears a clear voice down the hall.

 

« Say something! »

 

And another one.

 

« Yeah Jongin, he asked you a question! »

 

His steps resonate more and more loudly, until he starts to hear other steps, distant, heavier. He stops at the staircase entrance, frozen. The picture in front of him is off, surreal in its normality. There are five boys climbing up the stairs, boys Kyungsoo has never seen. In the middle, Jongin stands out inevitably. He has a new bruise on his jaw, Kyungsoo notices. They all talk expressively and laugh and shout like they don’t care someone could catch them skipping class, except Jongin and it’s strange that he’s never seen Jongin with anyone before. It doesn’t feel normal. They pass him without even a look his way, going up to the third floor, but when he looks up the stairwell is empty and the bang of a door closing above echoes all around him.

 

The rooftop?

 

He doesn’t- He just doesn’t get it.

 

It’s weird, really, that he’s never seen Jongin with anyone before. Yet it felt more natural than what he’s just witnessed. It makes him nervous and uneasy.

 

He goes up the first step, then the second, and suddenly he’s climbing them two by two with an urgency in his breath and a heavy heartbeat to match his steps. He reaches the door and doesn’t even hesitate to push it open. It’s surprisingly light and he stumbles forward on dark concrete. The sun is high, a cold and fuzzy halo cutting through the clouds, and he lifts a hand to shield his eyes. A shiver crawls up his spine as the wind bites his skin and eyes slowly turn to him.

 

He looks towards the horizon; it’s way higher than he’d imagined and although it’s like he’s on top of the world, he still feels small and helpless.

 

« Hey! What are you doing here? »

 

« Fuck, is he going to snitch? »

 

« Wait, aren’t you that second year who’s always alone and goes out to puke during all his classes? »

 

They all laugh except Jongin who turns to him, finally, eyes widening and brows furrowing in confusion. Kyungsoo feels dizzy and the sharp laughter makes his ears sting. He averts his eyes from Jongin’s unnerving stare and looks up to a tall boy that stands right before him. He’s really intimidating, Kyungsoo thinks. All over the place. What the hell is Jongin doing with a guy like him? All his features seem too big and disproportionate; big ears, huge eyes, wide grin. Too much teeth. Too much hair. Not enough personal space.

 

« Does he want to join us? » A voice asks somewhere behind.

 

« Do you want to join us? » It’s too much again. Too deep and too loud.

 

Whatever they’re talking about, Kyungsoo doesn’t want to join them. He only wanted to check on Jongin. He shakes his head, eyes wide. The giant shrugs and runs to the edge of the building.

 

« Let’s go guys, come on! We don’t have all day! »

 

« Alright, calm down. » A boy with auburn hair and a face somewhat similar to Jongin’s but with brighter eyes and a kind smile tugs Jongin by the arm. « Let’s go. » Another one, short with a round face and weird arched eyebrows sighs heavily and they all walk to join the tall guy still eagerly gesticulating and shouting at them to hurry up.

Jongin looks behind his shoulder towards Kyungsoo, but fuck, he doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know what Jongin wants from him, he’s never known. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, why’re they’re suddenly standing on the edge, holding hands.

 

The boy with auburn hair stands to the left with Jongin, a tight grip on his wrist keeping him in place.

 

Kyungsoo can’t move, can’t even blink as he watches the incongruous scene unfold under the grey sky, clouds accumulating overhead.

 

« Let’s do it for the Suicide Club! » The words don’t register in Kyungsoo’s head; it’s as if he’s watching a comedy show after school and the host just blurted out a misplaced joke. Nothing is real, nothing makes sense.

 

« On the count of three! Okay Jongin? » The boy with auburn hair nudges at Jongin with his elbow. In any other circumstances it would have been warm and friendly, but it’s not.

 

« Everyone ready? One, two, th- »

 

« Wait! Wait, wait wait. » It’s weird-arched-eyebrows boy who interrupts the countdown, sounding frantic. « Are you guys serious? You really gonna do it? » Everyone sighs in annoyance.

 

« Of course idiot! » The giant smacks him across the head. « Fuck, Minseok, get it together, you in or not? Okay, let’s start over. »

 

It’s a really breathtaking picture, the sun piercing through the heavy clouds, the smiles, the interlaced fingers, the wind playing with white shirts and through strands of hair. It’s distant, like he’s not really part of this. He might just be a stranger intruding on their moment, peeking from a crack on the wall.

 

« One, »

 

The wind cuts Kyungsoo’s bare arms. It’s not even winter yet, but the air is dry and freezing. He wishes he had at least worn his long sleeved uniform shirt.

 

« Two, »

 

He doesn’t notice he’d started walking until he’s close enough to grab Jongin’s shoulder. The boy looks back at him, mouthing words but no sound reach Kyungsoo’s ears. The wind is too strong and it makes his head pound and his eyes water.

 

« What? » 

 

Jongin’s face is oddly transparent. Something like a smirk shapes his lips, but it isn’t exactly, since his eyes always look elsewhere, way beyond the horizon. Kyungsoo looks to the side, where things are drawing their conclusion.

 

« Three. »

 

A dull, unfamiliar sound, like an impact, or a collision, and the silence returns. His fingers are still gripping Jongin’s shoulder so he lets go quickly. Jongin is looking down to the ground, eyes widening, leaning a little too much over the edge and he staggers dangerously, stepping back on the cold asphalt of the rooftop.

 

His legs give out but he doesn’t feel the ground scrapping his skin. Jongin sits down as well, both of them trembling horribly.

 

Minutes pass, only minutes although it feels like hours. The bell rings but it’s muted and goes unnoticed. Kyungsoo looks at Jongin still out of breath, his hair a mess just as the roof door slams open again, the teacher’s screams blurred out in his head. He’s drowning, probably, because Jongin’s face is distorted, like when you’re underwater and you look up to the surface. The sounds don’t reach him at all, not even his heartbeat, people are tugging at his arms and wrists and touch his face but he’s numb, he’s reaching the seabed slowly because the lights are fading, giving way to darkness.

 

 

—

 

 

It's blurry at first, blotches of grey with light mixed in, spots dancing before his eyes and assaulting his retinas. He slowly gets a hold of his senses again and the grey turns to a ceiling, the spots to harsh neons above him. There's a buzzing sound resounding from everywhere at the same time, and when he listens close enough, he can discern a quiet and even breathing to his right.

 

Kyungsoo isn't sure where he's supposed to be, until he finally moves an inch, stirs a muscle of his neck and feels cotton under his fingers. Probably the infirmary. He shifts his head in direction of the breathing and is met with the back of a boy seated at the edge of the bed.

 

He knows it’s Jongin just by the strain in his shoulders and the overall weariness to his figure, he knows it’s him even before the boy turns to him and if Kyungsoo had expected anything, he would’ve been disappointed by the impassive expression Jongin offers him once more, even after all this. He _isn’t_ disappointed, but maybe just slightly put off, irritated. He sits up and straightens his back, hoping it’ll give him assurance.

 

« Why did you come to the roof, Kyungsoo? » Again, his voice is monotone, but there’s something else to it. Like he’s scared. It brings him back to that day in the classroom, with flowers between them, when the shadows were still concealable and the scent of flowers was still fresh rather than pungent, overwhelming. Again, Jongin’s eyes hold him prisoner.

 

It’s another question for which no answer is expected, but Kyungsoo still answers, like he can’t help himself.

 

« You never stroke me as the type to make friends. » It comes out sounding like a joke, but he didn’t mean to. Jongin snorts flatly, unamused.

 

« What does it matter to you? » 

 

_What does it matter to me?_

 

The words scream at him like an accusation. It’s not like he’d never thought about it, but it had never felt as important as it feels right then. 

 

« I- I don’t know. Yet. But I want to. I think you need help, but so do I. I think we both do. I feel something, when I speak with you, like it makes it better even though it makes it worse. I’m scared, you know? I’m fucking terrified of what just happened, of them, of you. » It’s more than that, he knows. He’s scared of the _absence_ of Jongin. He’s scared of him becoming _them_. « Everyone is leaving. But I need someone to stay with me, I need someone to not leave for once. »

 

« Kyungsoo. » He speaks without opening his mouth, almost. « Calm down. » He leans in and Kyungsoo feels dizzy again.

 

Silence settles around them, stretching time for a moment that seems never ending, while in reality it’s probably only a minute before Jongin speaks again.

 

« I don’t- I don’t know what to do either. I don’t understand what I’m doing here, I never did. Everyone around me is leaving, too. What is there left for me? I don’t think I can live solely for myself. I don’t think I can make it then. »

 

When he looks up into Kyungsoo’s eyes, they’re one step closer. One inch, one foot, one mile. He can’t measure, but they’re closer. He still doesn’t understand much, not the suicides, not the dread that’s been weighing him down for weeks, but he understands Jongin a little better, and that’s enough.

 

He can work with that. He has to start somewhere, right?

 

The door clicks and opens, a teacher barging in unceremoniously, startling the two boys. « I see mister Do is awake. Some public officers would like to speak with you two. Follow me, please. » Kyungsoo still feels weak, only halfway back into his own body, but there isn’t really much of a choice. The teacher’s eyes are wide with impatience as they both nod, following him out the door and into the empty corridor.

 

They are taken to a vacant classroom at the end of the hallway. The desks have been pushed together against the walls, and by the window stand two officers, talking animatedly. It’s already nearing late afternoon; the sun is setting behind them, casting heavy shadows over their faces. It must be around 6pm, Kyungsoo guesses. He was unconscious for a long time.

 

The teacher leaves, closing the door behind himself. He glances towards Jongin and notices the shortened distance between them. 

One of the two men, the one who appears to be of a certain age with a severe frown behind small glasses, turns to Kyungsoo.

 

« I would like you to undress, please. » The man clears his throat before explaining himself. « We are looking for apparent forms of self-harm scars. Since you were involved in today’s incident, you are primary suspects. Your cooperation is important for the progress of this investigation, so please listen to orders and we’ll be finished in ten minutes. »

 

Kyungsoo steps up on unsteady legs, not knowing where to look as he removes his shirt, then his pants. It all seems extremely unprofessional, to be doing this there, at school, just like that. Shouldn’t there be a protocol for these kind of things? The other officer, a young man griping his jacket across his chest, releases one of his sleeves and motions for Kyungsoo to turn around.

 

He holds his breath even though he doesn’t have anything to hide, and he turns to face Jongin who’d been standing behind him, leaning against the wall. Their eyes lock and the distance decreases slightly once more. Jongin’s gaze pierces through him and it sends a shiver tearing down his body.

 

The officers allow Kyungsoo to put his uniform back on and call for Jongin, who steps up without a word and removes his clothes calmly. Jongin’s skin marbled with patches of setting sun is nearly flawless, if not for the horrific scar on his waist, a large rectangular piece of skin missing, gaping red and smooth like a cicatrized burn but too definite, almost calculated. The cops, alarmed, inspect it thoroughly, even if Jongin brushes it off as some result of a childhood accident. They seem unsettled but there are no other scars, no cuts on his wrists or his thighs, no cigarette burns, so they give in, and Jongin covers himself again. The scar disappears behind the white fabric of his shirt, yet the red remains like a stain in Kyungsoo’s mind. He can still see it on Jongin, through his uniform shirt, he can almost smell the blood soaking Jongin’s clothes.

 

 

—

 

 

There are some questions asked, but it feels dragged, somewhat half-assed despite the urgency of the case, or so Kyungsoo thinks. Jongin stays like a wall, eyes downcast and lips sealed. Kyungsoo would rather be somewhere else, but when he tries to figure out where he’d want to go, he draws a blank.

 

They’re excused for the rest of the evening to recover from any possible trauma. It’s laughable, really. Kyungsoo doesn’t feel different from the day or even the week before, but he goes along with their assumption. What will staying here accomplish, at this point? In the corridor, through the windows, he looks at the students quietly sitting at their desks, studying subjects they don’t understand, memorizing textbooks to fill their brains, totally unaware that those same classrooms, those same desks are emptying themselves more and more every day, forgetting the face of their friends, maybe even forgetting their own. It’s impressive, in a way, how the school handled the situation so smoothly, how they managed to erase the death of those teenagers before anybody could notice. _Preventive measures coming from the head of the police department include a minimized dissemination of any information on the subject as to contain the trend and prevent other incidents._ Of course, Kyungsoo thinks. How harmful for the school’s reputation would this be, if the information were to spread? 

 

It smells too much like flowers, it’s sickening. Every day the smell gets stronger, and Kyungsoo thinks that soon he won’t be able to bear it. 

 

When he sets foot outside, the sun is still setting, as if the time had stopped the moment he’d woken up beside Jongin in the infirmary. His phone indicates 6:23pm.

 

« I lied. »

 

Jongin’s voice feels too close, but when Kyungsoo turns around Jongin is standing a few feet back, the wind blowing his hair in his face. The sound of the boy’s voice echoes in his head as if he’d imagined it, but there’s a tension there, the kind that settles heavily before a revelation; not an elephant in the room per say, but apprehension.

 

« It wasn’t random lottery. » It takes the time of a short pause for Kyungsoo to make sense of the words.

 

« Then what- »

 

« Sehun, he was my best friend. We’ve always had a similar view of the world, but I think he understood something I couldn’t. He figured out what he had to do but I still can’t. He didn’t leave me any hints, nothing. I thought we understood each other, but I still don’t get it, and it’s tiring. I’m so fucking tired. »

 

Somehow, he’s not really surprised, but he accepts the new piece of information as a step ahead. Maybe not in the right direction, but it’s still a step. It’s better than stagnating in the darkness. He thinks about how, at first, he used Jongin to understand what had happened to Sehun, but now he only hopes every mention of his classmate can help him figure out Jongin a bit more.

 

« What was that scar, Jongin? How did you get something like that? »

 

The wind is as strong as it was up on the rooftop earlier that day, and if Jongin had said anything, he probably wouldn’t have heard it. Jongin’s lips stretch into a poor imitation of a smile, except it isn’t one because it doesn’t reach further than that, his eyes are obscure and his skin, even under the sunset, stays dull. The expression doesn’t quite suit him but Kyungsoo hopes it will, one day.

 

 

—

 

 

That night, instead of distant pop music and the muffled blend of drunken conversations and busy sounds of the city, there’s a constant roaring coming from outside, like cars on the highway speeding past right outside the window. The light penetrating the room hits the walls the same way it does in his bedroom, the moon, the street lights, the exact same neon signs from the cafes and the noraebang across the street, but he’s sitting behind his desk at school. The sun has set a long time ago, and in his head he can hear the faint chatter of students leaving one after the other.

 

Looking up at the ceiling, he sees his classmate, a rope around the neck. It seems as though he is levitating. _Is that Sehun?_  he thinks, yet he can’t remember who Sehun is. The body is spinning, but every time it’s about to face him, its back appears again and again. Peeking from the collar at the bottom of its nape, a rectangular scar like skin cut sharply with a knife glistens, as if it has just been made.

 

It looks painful.

 

 

_Kyungsoo_

 

 

Looking down, he sees flowers placed on each desk, on the window sills, even a few on the floor. The smell makes him want to vomit.

A boy with tanned skin and dark hair stands by the door.

 

 

_The Suicide Club doesn’t exist. The Suicide Club doesn’t exist._

 

 

Another name comes to mind, a name he can’t recognize.

 

Kyungsoo opens his eyes, but is met by darkness. There’s a roaring sound coming from outside, like cars on the highway far in the distance. His clock flashes white blinding digits at his face.

 

6:23pm. When did he fall asleep?

 

He hasn’t gone to school for three days now, since the rooftop incident. His parents hadn’t questioned it, hadn’t even looked at him.

 

He’ll go to school tomorrow, he decides.

 

 

—

 

 

When Kyungsoo opens his eyes, he finds himself looking down onto buildings and buildings stretching into the horizon. It’s night already, and even though he woke up this morning, went to school and sat at his desk for hours, days merge into each other without him noticing; his nausea doesn’t follow him as often as what he had gotten used to, but his perception of time is altered. He just can’t keep track of it all anymore, or maybe it’s that it doesn’t matter, and he doesn’t care. Moments where he opens his eyes to find himself somewhere, like he just woke up but he knows he hasn’t been sleeping for a while, have become familiar.

 

That night he finds himself on the school’s rooftop. It could’ve looked the exact same way it did back then, as if it had just happened an hour ago, but it’s late and the air is even colder, the wind stronger. The only detail from that scene that remains the same is that he still feels helpless, probably more so in this moment, standing before the illuminated city. It would appear alive if he didn’t know it was already dying.

 

Through the wind he listens to the faint sounds of the city, the cars, and something like a train passing by, although he’s not sure there’s actually a railway anywhere near enough for the sound to reach him, especially through the wind. He glances to his left and sees Jongin standing beside him. His sudden appearances don’t even startle Kyungsoo anymore, since Jongin barely leaves his mind, infiltrates it down to his dreams, and watching him exhale heavily, right there on the rooftop, doesn’t feel any different.

 

« What do you want from me? I wish none of this would have happened. What’s going on with everyone? What should I do? What can I do? » All his questions come out at once, not in the way he would’ve liked them to. He looks at Jongin who is all of a sudden too close, only a few inches away, and Kyungsoo notices for the first time how small he is compared to this boy one year his junior. He’s so close he could touch him if he wanted to, but the possibility scares him.

 

« Jongin, what’s the Suicide Club? » Kyungsoo looks up to eyes staring right through him, as if he wasn’t even there. When the boy in front of him speaks up, it feels like he is talking to himself.

 

« It’s only a club, Kyungsoo. The Suicide Circle is all of this. It’s all of us. What are they all doing? Everyone is looking for a place to belong. What’s your purpose, what’s your role in this?

You know, there are certainly more suicides than there are in this club. There’s always more to it than what you think. This world, it’s full of lies told by those who can’t play their roles convincingly.  They fail at being a father, they fail at being a wife, at being a teacher, at being a son. And they fail at being themselves. They connect to others and they connect to the club to fulfil their roles, but in the end, do you notice when a star disappears from the sky? People vanish all the time. »

 

« Are you going to disappear, too? »

 

« We all disappear at some point. It’s only a matter of how and when; it’s all the fucking same either way. »

 

Jongin’s hand is surprisingly warm on the skin of his neck, and a shiver shakes him so strongly he flinches and closes his eyes. The boy is alive after all, Kyungsoo realizes. It’s a weird thought.

 

« I don’t want to be alone anymore. » And it’s true. He’s been wandering in the dark for so long, struggling to breathe, and despite knowing Jongin is the one that cut off his oxygen, the touch of his skin on his is enough to bring him back to life.

 

_Humans are like stars in the universe, distancing themselves from others at the speed of light. From nothing they start as one, and it feels like it’ll be this way forever, but soon everyone finds themselves alone, and they can’t recognize where they are, nor who they are._

 

Jongin’s voice echoes in him once more; he closes his eyes, and thinks Jongin must be wrong. There’s only darkness, he doesn’t know where he is nor who he is, but Jongin’s hands on his neck are real, and the lips pressing down at the corner of his own are warm too.

 

He feels far away from the world, deep into the confines of the universe, but he’s not alone.

 

 

—

 

 

Kyungsoo gets dragged down dozens and dozens of flights of stairs, pulled by the wrist, his legs moving as if they were someone else’s entirely. They’re running down what feels like miles of glistening pavement, street lights flickering off and drowning them in darkness. He hears a beeping sound followed by an electronic voice and the pavement starts to move under his feet, until he realizes they’re inside a train. Suddenly the light returns, too harsh for his eyes, letting him discern only silhouettes standing in the cart around him, then they’re running down dark streets again. He has no idea where they are going, and even though he tries to speak through his heavy breaths no sound comes out. There’s a pause and then stairs again, stairs and more stairs and Kyungsoo is tired, he wonders for an instant how his legs are still supporting him.

 

The apartment is even darker than the streets, as if the moonlight couldn’t pierce through the windows. He is guided through a door. He doesn’t remember his shoes coming off, nor his jacket, his shirt removed as well. A hand is pressing his chest down on a mattress, and when he looks up nobody’s there, he can’t see anything but a pair of eyes hovering above him.

 

« Jongin. » It’s the first sound he lets out in a while, breathless, a whisper.

 

Jongin kisses him again. He doesn’t understand the meaning of it, but he goes along with it.

When the lips leave his mouth to press on his neck, and hands start to tug at the waistband of his uniform trousers, he turns his head towards the window. The moon’s light shines strangely bright, but doesn’t reach them, doesn’t penetrate the room to hit the walls and maybe chase the shadows from Jongin’s face.

 

He remembers when he was a child how he used to be terrified of aliens. He’d had nightmares for two years, of aliens bursting into his home and their laser guns turning his parents to bones. He’d always look at the night sky and fear spotting a spaceship piercing the clouds.

 

The second these memories flash through his head, as he falls and falls down the cliff, he wishes he could’ve seen the edge on time.

 

Hands slide over his skin, and he clings nails deep into Jongin’s body as if it could stop his fall, but instead it’s everything else that falls with him. He’s afraid, even more than he was back then, six or seven years old boy trembling under his blanket. It’s even more terrifying than ghosts or alien stories, it’s like running from the monster without knowing if it’ll ever catch him, and as he runs he sees other people, tired of running or hurting their leg and stop, but he never knows if they get caught because he won’t look back.

 

He thinks maybe they don’t get caught because the monster is only chasing after him.

 

Or maybe there is no monster, and he only keeps running because he doesn’t want to know what happens to those who stop, to those who finally hit the ground.

 

It feels like the fall ends there when something inside him explodes, white washing over the darkness in front of his eyes for an instant as the heat spreads down his body. The white fades out, blurring out his surroundings into each other. The moon outside disappears, the eyes floating in the dark close and it’s as if the room had vanished.

 

 

—

 

 

Kyungsoo wakes up in a bed he doesn’t know. He remembers Jongin dragging him to his apartment the night before, but in the daylight it’s the first time he really sees it. The bedroom is strangely normal, maybe a bit too simple. White walls; dark grey blankets; a ceiling fan and a window without blinds or curtains.

 

The comforter beside him raises slowly, dark strands of hair poking out from under it. He closes his eyes, listening to the sound of the wind outside, the cry of a bird flying by, children shouting down the street. It’s a strange, calming sensation.

 

An arm moves up from under the covers, fingers touching his face lightly. He sighs. It’s not clear who needs this the most, but he suppresses the thought and leans into the touch.

 

 

—

 

 

When he exits Jongin’s apartment building, the sun has started to set, orange and pink over white and on the other side it’s black and grey where the light doesn’t reach. He stops in the middle of the road, waiting for a spaceship to appear between the clouds. The distant roar of an airplane way above him snaps him out of his thoughts; it sounds familiar, like cars on the highway far, far in the distance. In the darkening sky he can only catch a flashing light vanishing behind the roof of a house.

 

Two buildings down a family is saying goodbye to an old lady. A man, a woman, two girls about his age, and a young boy. They’re hugging the old lady, smiling and crying a bit, and Kyungsoo can hear them saying « Goodbye, granny! » « I’ll miss you granny, see you soon. » « Take care, goodbye. » They let go of her slowly, and she waves at them before going back inside. The family starts to walk in his direction.

 

Kyungsoo blinks and the sad smiles, the tears evaporate as he stands on the side of the road, rooted in place. As the family pass him, one of the two girls glances at him and smiles tauntingly. He turns around, shocked, and sees them getting in a white van, then drive away.

 

It’s silent again. He sees the girl’s smile in his head, and is reminded of what Jongin had said the night before.

 

_There’s always more to it than what you think. This world, it’s full of lies told by those who can’t play their roles convincingly._

 

He wonders if this is what he meant, or if, on the contrary, these people haven’t failed at all.

 

He starts walking.

 

 

—

 

 

Kyungsoo goes to school the next day, but does not bother attending classes. It’s the same either way, he thinks. Doesn’t make much of a difference.

 

He climbs up the stairs to the rooftop, but the door is locked. He’s not surprised. He sits on the stairs instead, and decides it’s probably the better option. The weather’s getting colder and colder, anyway.

 

He admittedly goes looking for Jongin when the bell rings. The first years’ building, library, cafeteria; and he repeats this for a few days. When he gets home his parent don’t even look at him. Has school called to report on his absence in class? Did his teachers even notice he’d been absent? He wonders if he eventually came back to class he would find flowers on his desk.

 

He remembers well how it had happened the first time, Jongin disappearing like he had never existed in the first place. He remembers how Jongin had found him instead.

 

He knows this time’s different, though. He has the feeling it’s his turn to find Jongin. He knows the boy is linked to the Suicide Club in some way, but the side on which he stands is still a mystery.

 

After a week, Kyungsoo tries to recall the way to Jongin’s apartment from when he’d left to his own house. It’s vague, but after two hours, he’s finally there. He doesn’t think twice before he knocks on the door. He can’t help but imagine a body curled up in charcoal blankets, cans of coffee and energy drinks and dirty dishes littering the floor, the kitchen counters, the bed. He knocks again, louder. Waits.

 

He feels like crying. He feels like screaming. He bangs and bangs on the door until his fists hurt, his throat dry with the screams he tries to repress as much as he can, until a neighbor appears in the crack of an open door at the end of the hallway, alerted by the noise. He hasn’t felt this angry in a while, but it’s still an illogical emotion flooding his mind, it makes him dizzy and a bit nauseous. His jaw hurts from gritting his teeth too hard.

 

After the second week, Kyungsoo has stopped thinking about school. He wakes up late when the house is empty, and falls asleep a few hours later before his parents return from work. He goes back to Jongin’s apartment, but only knocks twice. No answer.

 

 _Maybe he’s dead_ he thinks. _Maybe he went and fucking killed himself. He probably jumped off a bridge or got rolled over by a train._ It still feels suffocating, and his heart beats a mile an hour as he stands unmoving in front of Jongin’s door with adrenaline rushing to his head in waves. It makes the walls twist and turn and the neons flash as he turns around and walks away, focusing his attention on cracks in the wall or stains in the floor carpet.

 

When he looks up, after only a few steps, Jongin is there, wearing an oversized winter jacket and half of his face disappearing in a navy wool scarf. He’s like an apparition, and Kyungsoo can’t take his eyes off him, not even to blink in fear the boy would vanish again without leaving a shadow behind.

 

 

—

 

 

Layers of fabric evaporate like steam between their bodies, the press of skin against skin and the harsh grip of fingers the only tangible sensation, the only thing that feels real in that moment. Jongin presses Kyungsoo to him with a desperation that makes Kyungsoo light-headed. There’s a hand pressing hard on his waist and another cradling his head as they kiss urgently, preventing him from pulling back even an inch, as if Jongin hadn’t been the one to disappear for days to begin with, as if he’d had to leave against his will. Kyungsoo doesn’t get any explanation, but it’s not like he expected any; the presence of the boy around him is already surreal in itself.

 

He lets himself go, surrenders body and mind to Jongin completely. He glances over the edge of the cliff again, but this time the abyss seems inviting. It’s warm, comforting, fingers gliding over his ribs, his hips, his thighs. The touch is possessive, and albeit a little shaky, its confidence makes Kyungsoo feel like himself, as if Jongin was shaping his body to life, confirming his existence. It’s the closest he’s ever felt to any other human being, but it’s the closest he’s ever felt to himself as well.

 

When Jongin collapses on him, his arms pull the boy’s body against his own to erase the limit between them, to feel the boy’s quick breathing and the strong pumps of his heart in his chest as if they were his own.

 

After a while, when they’ve caught their breath and the air has cooled down, Jongin shifts on his side and buries his face in Kyungsoo’s neck. With his eyes closed, he feels every place their skin touch as strongly as he can, he engraves it in his memory even if it’d mean overwriting anything else.

 

« I hate this place. » Jongin says, but there’s no anger in his voice.

 

« You still came back, though, so it’s fine, right? » Home should be where you want to return to, Kyungsoo thinks, and that’s what Jongin did.

 

They lay amongst Jongin’s charcoal blankets for what seems like years and years, a warm breath fanning against Kyungsoo’s neck, and his hand rubbing irregular shapes across Jongin’s skin. He feels the boy detach himself slowly to look up into Kyungsoo’s eyes, and Jongin’s own eyes are blank, again leaving Kyungsoo all sorts of heartbroken. 

 

It’s becoming harder to not expect a change. Well, there was a change, somehow, but he can hardly pinpoint what, exactly. He’ll take it though. He’ll take whatever he can get.

 

« Kyungsoo. » The boy lays back into the space between Kyungsoo’s shoulder and neck, and as he speaks, his lips brush Kyungsoo’s skin softly. The warmth makes Kyungsoo shiver; another reminder that the boy really _is_ alive.

 

« Mmmh… » He shuts his eyes tight once more and concentrates on the voice.

 

« I’m afraid, you know? I might sound like I get it, all of this, but I don’t. I still don’t know why i’m here. Sometimes I look at my reflection and it’s not me. I don’t recognize myself at all, like i’m staring back at a stranger and this life isn’t even mine anymore. I get so scared then. »

 

He doesn’t see but feels Jongin’s hand coming to rest over his heart.

 

« It’s like my life went by in a flash, ninety years old me or two years old me standing right there, i’m not sure. And I look at myself and I’m so fucking lost. I start to panic because I understand that I’ll never have time to do anything, I won’t ever live long enough to even find that connection. »

 

He turns his head towards Jongin, dark brown hair tickling his face. His hand on Jongin’s back goes up to ruffle the boy’s hair gently, like he wants to calm him down, even though he knows there’s no helping it. Somehow these kinds of touches come to him so naturally.

 

« Kyungsoo, do you know what scientists say about the stars? »

 

« No, what do they say? » He asks in Jongin’s hair.

 

« Apparently the stars we see at night are so far away it takes millions and millions of years for their light to reach earth. It takes so long that all these stars are probably already dead. My existence feels like that, like an illusion, like it ended before it even started. And I’m just standing there, just fucking stargazing. Maybe I’ve been dead this whole time. Maybe that’s why I can’t find a connection, Kyungsoo. Maybe that’s why. »

 

Jongin’s hold on Kyungsoo’s body tightens, and Kyungsoo sighs.

 

« You have all the time you need, Jongin. I’m the same you know. I don’t know what I’m doing either. If you want, we can watch the stars together for a billion years. We’ll watch them for a billion, billion years, doesn’t matter if they don’t exist anymore. We’ll just watch the night sky until every star has disappeared. »

 

A quiet chuckle tickles his throat.

 

« … that’s impossible, but okay. Let’s do that. »

 

Kyungsoo feels helpless even in Jongin’s arms. In this instant, he knows the younger boy is already far ahead, somewhere far in the distance, and he might need those billion years just to catch up to him.

 

 

—

 

 

Kyungsoo stops keeping track of numerous things. The days of the week, for instance, don’t mean much anymore. Half the time he isn’t sure what day it is, what date it is, and it’s probably because it doesn’t feel important, kind of like when it’s summer vacation and the days blur into each other. He doesn’t have to care about time, if it’s morning or night or anything else.

 

He stops keeping track of the suicides still happening all around the country. It has spread; it was a Seoulite problem before, but not anymore. He thinks he saw on the news that people have been dying in Japan, too. There have been more suicides in some Chinese cities as well, but it’s unclear. He’s stopped counting, and then he’s stopped noticing altogether. It’s not that he doesn’t care; he still cares, he still wants to understand, but he hasn’t been getting anywhere, so he saves himself at least the thought.

 

One evening he opens the door to his house and walks into the living room. The news are playing on television, the volume low, almost a murmur. He stops in front of it for a moment, more by reflex than anything close to interest. Nothing registers in his mind because the news are just a death count now, faceless heads and the same monotone voice, almost robotic, one he’s been hearing for weeks. The house is empty and dark, the light of the tv screen flashing on the walls and furniture, casting long shadows that are like black holes hiding behind every surface. As he passes his parents' bedroom, he glances through the open door. Both of them are asleep, and it feels strangely ordinary. Suddenly the passage of time hits him upfront, something he hadn’t been expecting, as if it was forced down his throat.

 

How long was he gone? Was it just a day? A week?

 

When Kyungsoo wakes up the next day, somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, the same faint murmur of the television can be heard from the living room. Someone is laughing, screaming, all of it blending in with an eerie mix of distorted sound effects. A song comes on, a bit more distinctly, the melody familiar. He gets up, like attracted by the youthful female voices, but he stops in his tracks in the hallway when he sees the door to his parent’s bedroom, still ajar, in the exact same position he had left it the night before. He opens it slowly, to find his parents still in their bed, but the air in the room is cold, stagnant, a buzzing sharp like a needle in his ears. His knees touch the carpeted floor with a thump, the grey of it dirty, dust floating up with the contact of his legs giving out under him. A rotten scent sticks to his tongue, heavy and strong, even more so than the stench of flowers at school. Stains of yellow color the carpet, some of it dripping from his chin to his thighs. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth that he can’t get rid of. His arms shake violently as he lifts a hand to his mouth, but bile comes out again.

 

He stands up suddenly, black and white spots obstructing his vision, and exits the bedroom as fast as he possibly can. His balance is off, his head heavy and his legs weak. He hits his shoulders and shins on the walls and furniture, not seeing, not registering the steps he takes until he is out the door, the group of preteen girls singing on tv following him until he’s standing outside, a song about expecting a message from a loved one.

 

 

_Mail me, I want to let you know,_  
_As far as friends go, yours is the best hello._  
_Mail me, I’m sure you never knew, how I feel about you._  
_This is real, I need to hear from you right now, or I’ll…_

 

 

—

 

 

The rays of the evening sun hit his face, blinding him for a brief moment before they hide behind a dark grey cloud, the wind blowing mercilessly, the rustle of the leaves around him so loud it could be mistaken for a crashing of waves. He’s sitting at a table in a coffee shop he doesn’t recognize, even though there’s a sort of familiarity to the decor that’s unsettling, as if he’d visited this place once, years ago. He looks out the large windows to his left; on the other side of the glass, it’s Seoul, as he’s always known it, people walking hurriedly in the cold and their white breaths coming out in puffs of smoke.

 

The coffee shop is almost full, but none of the faces catch his attention. He looks down to his hands; his cup is empty, unused. When he looks back up, Jongin is sitting in the chair in front of him, wrapped up in his oversized winter jacket and navy wool scarf. He smiles at Kyungsoo, a real smile, one that reaches deep into his eyes and moves his entire being. His skin under the dimmed light of the sun looks beautiful. It’s a sight Kyungsoo commits to memory instantly.

 

« Jongin, what’s the Suicide Club? »

 

His voice sounds drained even to his own ears; Jongin’s smile falters.

 

« There’s no club. It’s a circle, Kyungsoo. A social circle. » He traces the shape of it in the air, as if to make a point. « This world, it’s full of lies told by those who can’t play their roles convincingly. They fail at being a husband, they fail at being a mother, at being a sister, at being a son. And they fail at being themselves. They fail to connect to others, and they fail to connect to themselves, so they try to connect to the club, even though they won’t ever find their role doing so. It’s pointless. Your role isn’t there. It will never be. »

 

Jongin’s words are familiar. He has the impression this conversation has already taken place, or something close to it at least. 

 

He can almost predict the boy’s next words, but when Jongin speaks again, all of it feels entirely new.

 

« The red washing down the bathtub can’t change the color of the sea at all. Don’t forget, Kyungsoo. The club doesn’t exist. »

 

Behind Jongin, the customers sitting around the coffee shop stop talking and turn towards him, silently. Outside, the sun has almost disappeared, and the rustling of the leaves comes to a halt. A girl is looking at him from the other side of the road. Kyungsoo has seen her before, somehow. There’s a white van parked not far from where she stands, and as the engine starts, she looks away and runs, vanishing behind the vehicle.

 

A ringtone plays, the melody clear enough for Kyungsoo to make out what the lyrics say. Jongin takes out his phone from one of his jacket pockets, but doesn’t answer; the song continues playing, obnoxiously loud in the quiet coffee shop.

 

 

_Mail me, hurry up and hit the send key,_  
_Can’t you see? I’ve waited patiently._  
_Mail me, to my phone or my pc,_  
_I’m ready to tell you that I am…_

 

 

_—_

 

 

6:23am flashes red on the digital clock that sits on Jongin’s desk. It’s well into winter now, the moon still high up there, shinning brightly through a thin layer of clouds. The light still won’t reach the confines of Jongin’s bedroom, and the contrast of fluorescent white against the impenetrable darkness of the room reminds him of the night he fell off the cliff, never to be seen again. Kyungsoo still feels as if he’s falling, sometimes. 

 

He tries to move but realizes he barely can, laying on his back with strong arms encircling his body, gripping at the fabric of his t-shirt, and Jongin’s head resting on his chest. It should feel suffocating, should add to the claustrophobic atmosphere of that early morning, but somehow this weight pinning him down feels like an anchor. Jongin’s breath against his skin, Jongin’s heartbeat not quite matching the rhythm of his own is calming.

 

It’s freezing; the heater broke often, Jongin had said, so he extends a hand to lift the comforter back up, covering Jongin’s sleeping form sprawled on top of him. His other hand worms over the boy’s bare back under the covers, tracing the bumps of his spine. It grazes the edges of the large scar marking smooth skin, a rectangular piece of skin missing from his waist, an accident, he had said. An accident. But it’s too sharp, the cut too clean, just like Jongin’s half smile when Kyungsoo had shaken the nerve within himself to ask about it. It hid something, but when was Jongin not hiding something?

 

Kyungsoo never mentions his dreams to Jongin. The little he can remember, he keeps to himself, always in fear of awakening something in the other boy, of provoking the irrevocable.

 

When he wakes up again, later in the day this time, the silence and cold sun outside has him trapped in a loop. There’s a pattern he can’t seem to escape from, and it’s not certain if seeing the end of it would be better. It allows him to evade the questions he’s never been able to respond to.

Jongin is sitting on the sofa in the living room, his back to Kyungsoo standing in the doorway, not moving an inch. He’s watching a rerun of the morning news, with the sound barely audible.

 

« Come watch, something interesting’s going on. » Says Jongin without even turning around, his voice soft over Kyungsoo’s thoughts. He simply sits down, resting his chin on his knees and his shoulder pressed to Jongin’s.

 

 

_…arrested a group calling itself The Suicide Club and claiming responsibility for multiple murders. The group used the internet to call upon people to kill themselves. Their proclaimed aim was social upheaval. Investigators are now working to uncover the details._

 

 

There’s a video footage of what seems like the aforementioned group’s hideout, some sort of abandoned bowling venue with white sheets and a handful of metal tools littering the deserted alleys, a focus on some dark spots on the floors resembling dried blood, followed by images of police officers escorting out a tall man with dyed hair. His clothes are flashy, a matching suit with paillettes all over. As an introduction, the words « Suicide Club ringleader: Kwon Jiyong, self-proclaimed Genesis, 34 years old » in white letters, static at the bottom of the screen.

 

 

_Is the camera rolling? Wait, film my face, make sure to film my face. Good, good. First remember that reality is invisible to the human eye. We both know that life’s a real bitch. What about doing your best? That’s not good enough! Reminds me of that girl group’s song, how’s it go again? Oh yeah! The world is a jigsaw puzzle, somewhere there is a fit for you! Don’t fit you say? Then-_

 

 

The video cuts to an overview of the scene, police vehicles and ambulances surrounding the place, a growing crowd of pedestrians and reporters moving about, then jumps back to a large zoom on the man’s face.

 

 

_I’m the Charles Manson of the information age! Gotta find a place that lasts forever-_

 

 

And the video is cut short.

 

« I like that song he was talking about. » Jongin says to no one in particular as he stands up and picks up his winter jacket. He disappears into the bedroom and comes out with his sneakers on, adjusting his scarf around his neck.

 

« Where are you going? » Kyungsoo asks.

 

« Out. Just… out. I’ll be back soon. »

 

Kyungsoo looks at Jongin without a word, the other boy standing by the door, half of his face disappearing behind the large knitted scarf, hands in his pockets. He almost looks like a regular boy then, not one that has been swept away by the world unfairly, struggling to even stay alive. Slowly, Jongin’s eyes turn into small crescents, his gaze still unwavering, and even though his mouth is out of sight, Kyungsoo knows he’s smiling. It’s the first time Kyungsoo really sees it, a full smile that reaches deep somehow, one that lights up Jongin’s figure completely. A strange feeling of dread possesses him then; the smile, he doesn’t understand it and it scares him, shocks him even. He remembers wanting Jongin to smile one day, but now that he did, he finds it just doesn’t fit. It’s not the right moment, not the right place, not the right atmosphere.

 

Jongin takes a few steps forward until he’s standing by the sofa where Kyungsoo still sits, silent. His dark hair falls on his face, and his eyes relax a bit, his gaze softening as he extends a hand to Kyungsoo’s forehead, and up to lift the fringe out of Kyungsoo’s face. He reaches down and kisses his temple, the touch insistent, lasting maybe longer than it should. Kyungsoo opens his eyes just when he realizes he’d closed them, in time to catch the door shutting with a bang. Thunder growls somewhere far in the distance, again something that feels too familiar: Jongin leaving, Kyungsoo left behind, a storm taking shape over their heads. 

 

Somehow, Jongin always has to be involved.

 

The sound of the television brings him out of his stupor, colorful lights when he turns his head to look at the screen, cheerful music filling the apartment. Five young girls dance on a stage, singing a song about belonging. It really is ironic; Kyungsoo can’t help but feel slightly amused by it all.

 

 

 _The world is, a jigsaw puzzle._  
_Somewhere there's a fit for you,_  
_A place where your puzzle piece belongs._

 

 

He wonders absentmindedly where Jongin might have been going.

 

 

_Don't fit you say?  
Then make it so._

 

 

He stands up abruptly, picking up his own jacket, putting on his shoes in a hurry.

 

 

_There's nowhere for my piece to go.  
Find a place that lasts forever._

 

 

The door slams behind him as he makes his way down the corridor.

 

 

_Perhaps I'd better say "so long."_

 

 

The sky outside is dark, clouds low and menacing. The wind is freezing, his breath catching in his throat when he steps outside, thunder crashing again but this time only a few miles away.

It had felt distant for a long time; at least several months, how many exactly he isn’t sure, but now as he walks along the sidewalk, looking up when a blinding light tears up the sky, he thinks of Jongin, and he starts running.

 

 

—

 

 

It’s not as easy as it seems to figure out if he’s really just drawn to Jongin to the extent where he can find him in any crowd, in any place, at any moment. There’s something, that’s for sure, that allows his vision to lock on the boy’s form even in the distance, like his soul is constantly reaching for Jongin’s own.

 

As he runs down a busy street, bumping shoulders and hips into anyone obstructing his path, muttering half apologies to no one in particular, Kyungsoo’s eyes lock on dark hair and navy blue wool, filtering out everything that isn’t Jongin.

 

A shout breaks him out of his trance suddenly, catching his attention; a woman, her hair tied up neatly, holding high a wooden sign on which she’d scribbled the words _Jump Here_ in quick black strokes. A college student, a bit farther ahead, holds a similar sign to the tip of his fingers.

 

Moving with the crowd, he lifts his head towards the escalating skyscrapers disappearing into the heavy clouds. The cold wind makes his eyes water, and when he looks back down, blinking once, then twice, Jongin is gone.

 

The only difference now is that he thinks he’s used to it, Jongin disappearing suddenly, turning to smoke while he tries desperately to retain him, fingers only grasping at air. Kyungsoo’s knees buckle but he tries running faster, his breathing hitching in his lungs and piercing through his ribs.

 

He sees him, only an instant of Jongin flashing between the mass of pedestrians, but it’s more than enough for his tunnel vision to block out his surroundings, only letting him catch the subway exit number above the stairs that melt into the concrete of the sidewalk. He goes down and down and down, missing a step here and there but his eyes never falter. He can’t let Jongin escape his sight again.

 

« Jongin. » He says. It’s not a shout, just the words escaping his lips with an ounce of desperation. It’s impossible for Jongin to hear him over the swarming body of chattering school girls, but he stops in his tracks and turns around, and inevitably their eyes lock.

 

 

_The world is, a jigsaw puzzle!_

 

 

A ringtone plays somewhere. Kyungsoo takes a step forward. His feet feel heavy and light at the same time, a bit like they’re not his own. A bit like he’s not himself.

 

 

_Somewhere there's a fit for you,_

_A place where…_

 

 

A second phone rings. And a third. Another one. A wordless tune also, but the melody is the same. He takes a second step forward.

 

 

_…your puzzle piece belongs._

 

 

Jongin never takes his eyes off him, doesn’t move an inch. In the midst of loud conversations and eerie melodies melting into one another, a sharp voice resounds over their heads, mechanic and cold.

 

«  _Train number 4 is arriving in 5 minutes. Please stand behind the yellow line. Train number 4 is arriving in…_ »

 

Kyungsoo stops counting his steps when he reaches Jongin, standing a few feet away from the edge of the platform, his back to the tracks, and himself barely a few feet from the other boy. Up-close, Jongin’s skin under the slightly green neon lights of the underground looks outer-worldly, shining an unusual hue that accentuates the hollows and dips of his features, injecting deep shadows into his eyes, underlining his eyelids and cheekbones. It casts an even darker shadow under his eyelashes, erasing the glint from his irises.

 

« Why did you follow me? » It all sounds funny to Kyungsoo, this question out of Jongin’s mouth, genuine as if this wasn’t what he’d been doing from the very start. Following Jongin. Jongin running away and Kyungsoo running after him, just like a game he had agreed to play before knowing neither its rules nor its duration. He really did agree to it, he thinks, even if words hadn’t been part of the deal.

 

« Where are you going? » Kyungsoo really needs to know, but Jongin only half smiles, a tug at the corner of his lips. 

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t know what he expected.

 

 

_Don't fit you say?_

 

 

« It’s the Suicide Club, isn’t it? » Kyungsoo asks, then. He has no idea what to say, but he tries.

 

« Not really. » A beat passes but goes unnoticed. Kyungsoo thinks about all the unanswered questions between them. The club, the connections, the roles, the others. Himself, but mostly, Jongin. In the end, it all comes down to Jongin. It had always been the case, ever since the beginning. Jongin is the only enigma he needs a solution to.

 

« Don’t leave me. » The words tumble down his throat and scrape his tongue as they fall out of his mouth. He feels ashamed of himself, embarrassment burning every nerve end of his body; he’d forgotten how the emotion felt, and it leaves him shocked, even, but he doesn’t regret it. It’s the most honest he’s been with himself in a long time. « I don’t want to lose you again. » It’s said with more assurance, this time. If Jongin is startled, he doesn’t show it, levelling his gaze with Kyungsoo’s, whose brows knit in frustration and apprehension, waiting, again, for Jongin to reply.

 

« Everyone is always so afraid of losing, but isn’t filling the hole what’s really important? » His hand reaches towards Kyungsoo slightly, not far enough to touch; just there, between them, as if Jongin was counting down the seconds. « If something is there to replace what is lost, isn’t that enough? »

 

 

_Then make it so._

 

 

A song about belonging plays behind Kyungsoo, extremely loud to his ears although the melody is the same as all the others. It’s cut off by a click and the voice of a girl answering her cellphone, but it starts playing again, vaguely different, the tempo off by a beat. If Jongin left for good, what would replace him? What else does he wake up for, now, if not for the heat building between them as their skin brush? He realizes with a weight pooling in his gut that he’d replaced all he’d lost in his life with Jongin, and the boy was right, it had been enough. He could afford to lose other things if it meant keeping Jongin to himself.

 

 

_There's nowhere for my piece to go._

 

 

« You there! Don’t move! Stay where you are! » A man yells from the opposite platform. Middle-aged, Kyungsoo observes as he glances over Jongin’s shoulder to the source of the shout. He’s wearing a cheap grey suit, sweaty like he’s been running. Kyungsoo squints his eyes to get a better look; Jongin then turns around in the same direction, calmly, as if he’d been expecting all of it. The man looks familiar but he can’t put a finger on the exact memory he’s searching for.

 

« It’s you, the student with the scar! Don’t move, boy! Stay still! » He hears high-pitched laughs behind him, school girls hiding their giggles behind their hands. Heads are turning towards the man in curiosity. Kyungsoo sees a second man behind the first one, younger, his hair longer, in equally cheap grey slacks and a crumpled white shirt. The two men seem to exchange rushed words before the second one nods and promptly sprints up the stairs.

 

There’s rumbling thunder deep into the tunnel that has Kyungsoo’s gaze fix on Jongin again, to find the other boy already looking back at him as a hand pulls down his navy blue scarf from his face. There’s a smile there, a real one, beautiful and sincere and it’s anything but what Kyungsoo could’ve ever imagined. It’s nothing like any expression he has ever seen on Jongin, not even the smile from his dream, and in the eyes looking back at him without even allowing a blink to break the moment, he sees Jongin finally, like he’s truly present, as if he’s seeing Kyungsoo for the very first time.

 

« Let’s go. » Jongin says.

 

The simplicity of it is unsettling but at least there’s no place for a misunderstanding. Jongin takes Kyungsoo’s hand in his and the thunder growls louder, the lightning morphing into blinding headlights, swallowing the green of the neons overhead.

 

« Don’t move, please! Stay right there! We just want to talk! » The man in the grey slacks has reached the other platform and is pushing around shoulders and elbows and knees, holding out a police badge high up in the air. _Jump here_ Kyungsoo thinks. When he turns back towards Jongin, he sees the subway stop in front of them and a door open. Jongin gently tugs on his hand.

 

« Come on. » Jongin says. He’s still smiling, and in this instant Kyungsoo forgets about the cold, forgets about winter looming over their heads, forgets about the thunderstorm raging at the surface.

 

«  _Train number 4 is arriving. Please clear the way for passengers getting off. Train number 4 is…_  »

 

His eyes squeeze shut, his breath catching in his throat, but a second passes, and just as he blinks, the doors slide closed with a metallic rattling sound that has him flinch slightly. Behind the door window, he sees the faces of the school girls, laughing and chatting on their phone. The ringtones are muted on the other side, distorted. The policeman is banging on the door yet nobody seems to notice. Kyungsoo thinks they missed it, but as he exhales finally, the subway starts to move under his feet, everyone else still standing on the platform.

 

Aside from the two of them, the train is empty.

 

 

_Find a place that lasts forever._

 

 

They sit on one of the benches, their backs to the windows, thighs and shoulders touching. Jongin leans into the touch, angling himself towards Kyungsoo a little more.

 

 

Kyungsoo closes his eyes and silence engulfs him. The heat from Jongin’s hand in his fades.

 

 

_Perhaps I'd better say "so long."_

 

 

—

 

 

Kyungsoo opens his eyes to the familiar sound of chalk hitting the blackboard, voices muffled, far away. He blinks and lifts his head from the textbook he’d rested his head on for what he swears had only been two minutes. Thankfully, the teacher has noticed none of it, still engrossed in his lecture, scribbling away formulas and quick diagrams, arrows pointing in this direction, arrows pointing in the other, ellipses, underlines, capitals for important notes, switching to the yellow chalk for titles and labels. He holds up the eraser against the board, erasing half of it, before Kyungsoo has time to notice it’s material he hasn’t had time to note down yet.

 

« Next person to come up and solve this equation…Oh Sehun? »

 

The boy sitting at the second desk in front of Kyungsoo stands up, shoulders slumped. He’s tall and skinny, his hair dyed brown even though it’s against the school’s regulations. The boy tries for a few minutes before he is sent back to his seat with a defeated sigh. Just as the teacher starts talking again, the bell rings, and Kyungsoo, along the rest of his classmates, gathers his books to finally go home for the day. The sun outside is setting, casting deep red shadows over the students' faces. It seems warm but Kyungsoo knows winter is right around the corner.

 

As he walks up to the classroom door, he sees his classmate, Sehun, talking with another student. Tall, too, his skin a healthy tanned color, blazing embers under the setting sun. When the boy looks up, Kyungsoo is left frozen in place, his muscles rigid in stupor.

 

« Kyungsoo. » The boy says, a bit breathlessly.

 

His eyes are so dark they seem to absorb all the light in the room. The boy stands up straight and shoves Sehun aside when his arm extends towards Kyungsoo, gripping his wrist so hard it stops the blood flow in his hand.

 

The boy runs, his fingers on Kyungsoo’s wrist loosening, sliding down his palm to fit between Kyungsoo’s fingers. Kyungsoo runs behind him in the hallways, turning left, then right, right again, then left. They run for a long time, but Kyungsoo isn’t tired, and the other boy isn’t showing any signs of slowing down either.

 

Time stretches under their feet, hallways appearing endless, but in the end it snaps, seconds and minutes crashing into each other when Jongin halts abruptly. Outside, it’s completely black, flashing lights occasionally speeding past them. The floor is shaking faintly, but he doesn’t notice much of it. The boy is smiling down at him and Kyungsoo wonders if he has ever seen something quite like it.

 

« Kyungsoo. »

 

The boy is still holding his hand, their fingers laced tightly, and Kyungsoo shudders.

 

« Close your eyes, and think of somewhere. »

 

 

—

 

 

Kyungsoo opens his eyes to absolute darkness, yet Jongin in front of him is clear like bathed in daylight. His winter jacket is unzipped and his scarf hangs undone from his neck.

 

He looks at Kyungsoo as if he's the only thing he has ever known in his life, something not entirely impossible, perhaps. Not entirely. He leans down and presses his lips to Kyungsoo’s, firm but soft, definitive. Kyungsoo closes his eyes like a reflex. Sensorial memory overwriting every image in his mind, he sees with his eyelids shut.

 

Lightning. A train. A tunnel. A cliff. Red, so much red. Lights blinding him.

 

Jongin leans back. « Thank you for keeping your promise. »

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t feel happy. He doesn’t feel much, really.

 

« Did you end up finding your connection? »

 

He’s not sure who said it. It doesn’t matter.

 

« I’m not sure. But somehow, if there’s a meaning for me, there’ll be a meaning for someone else, right? »

 

 

And in this exact instant, the last star in the sky disappears.

 

—

**Author's Note:**

> For who's seen the movies, you'll be able to catch obvious references to Sono Sion's movies Suicide Club and Noriko's Dinner Table, from which this story was based on.
> 
> The line "The red washing down the bathtub [...]" was taken from Derrick C. Brown's poem _Instead of Killing Yourself_.
> 
>  
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kocha__b)  
> 


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